Yes folks - a pub. Kehoe's is a lively old spot on South Anne Street, off of Grafton, Dublin's main shopping boulevard. This is where I popped my cherry - so to speak - and downed my first real Irish Guinness. It was a bit sweeter than its Yankee counterparts, but I must tell the truth, I'm not a big Guinness fan.

Not that I decided forgo the Irish national pastime. Instead of imbibing the Emerald Isle fave, I turned to a lighter, brighter offering - Bulmer's Hard Cider. Over a glass of ice, this bubbly, light, fruity drink was just right on a warm day while still providing the requisite buzz.

With my drink-of-choice determined, I decided to take in a few of Dublin's sites, in amongst my historic pub crawl stops. I ventured to the important cultural landmarks like Ha' Penny Bridge...

There, I indulged in plump, briny Kilkee Rock Oysters with a Shallot Vinaigrette, followed by an utterly decadent plate of Pan-Fried Duck Foie Gras served on Toasted Brioche with Rhubarb and Strawberry Compote. Mmmmm...It was a grand meal indeed.

Everything was grand - from the friendly service at my Georgian townhouse hotel near St. Stephen's Green to the weather (blue skies!). But despite all the other glories and adventures that Dublin had to offer, something kept drawing me back to the pubs. One that actually required a second go-around was a hidden jewel known as The Stag's Head.

Tucked in a quaint alleyway, the pub oozed old charm. The Bulmer's was fine too. However, it was really the toasted sandwiches that got me. Not that I ate one mind you. But, these suckers were actually tossed into the toaster oven completely encased in plastic wrap.

Why didn't the Saran Wrap melt in the hot oven? What leprechaun trickery was this?

The barkeep explained. Apparently this space-age plastic wrap was actually made of glass. How it worked exactly was a mystery to her too. But, there it was on the plate as proof positive that this real-life "magic wrap" worked: a toasted sandwich sans an icky film of melted plastic.

I had a second Bulmer's to commemorate the fact that I'd learned something for the day.

What would the rest of the trip bring? At that point I didn't rightly know - except that I was pretty sure that a Bulmer's or two would be involved.

June 19, 2005

Arecibo Car Service is picking me up in a half-hour and then I'm off to JFK and - after 6 1/2 hours in flight - Dublin. Miraculously, I'm all packed and even had time for a pedicure this afternoon, in the midst of errands, the gym, etc.

Glad I did the quick Philly run before heading off. Southwark was a charmer. My Roasted Quail Stuffed with Lentils and Chorizo, resting atop a mound of juilenned cucumbers in a cool, mellow curry cream, was especially delightful. And, as luck would have it, after enduring a searing heat-wave, it was temperate enough that my Mom and I could toast her birthday - with Prosecco - on the restaurant's patio.

And, although I have to say that I wasn't the bit disappointed in Southwark, I have to admit that I couldn't help but wish that Mom and I were actually supping across the street - at the Famous 4th Street Deli. When I lived in Philadelphia, the deli was famous for three things - longevity, incredible cookies, and being one of the most slovenly, nasty delicatessens on the Eastern seaboard.

No more.

The place has been taken over by a bonafide Brooklynite and it's SPOTLESS. To top it off the deli case encased some glorious options - from Kippered Salmon Salad that was made on premises to a home-baked Eclair - that was the size of my head. The overstuffed sandwiches that were prepared in the back seemed just as mammoth. No kidding. We're talking epic portions.

Anyway, enough deli talk. I'm sure that a good Corned Beef and Chopped Liver on Rye will not be found in Ireland. But, as long as they don't run out of Guinness, I think I'll do just fine...Just 10 minutes to go before the car arrives. I'd better sign-off...

June 16, 2005

Before I head off to Ireland, going to take a quick trip to Philadelphia to see my Mom and take her out to dinner for a belated b-day celebration. Her restaurant of choice - Southwark in Queen Village.

Actually went there with her the last time I was in the City of Brotherly love, inspired by a glowing review by Lauren McCutcheon in Philadelphia Weekly:

You may have heard chef and co-owner Sheri Waide came straight from Django, and that co-owning hubby Kip Waide formerly made his living charming bargoers at Fergie's and New Wave Cafe.

It's just that, well, the place strikes such an appealing balance of bar and restaurant-what with its affable servers in ties and long white aprons, its wing-free and burger-less menu, that handsome bar and the overall bistro aptitude-can you blame me for not wanting to run the risk that you'll bogart my barstool? (There are only 18 of them, you know.)

Then again, who am I to deprive you of an exquisitely mild poached Bosc pear with a melted core of fontina cheese and hearty duck confit perched on a subtle cinnamon syrup? Surely there are enough golden crab beignets-airy, misshapen, crispy fried dough formations inspired by Caribbean accras and served with a bright lemon saffron aioli-to go around...

...Mushroom-tasting escargot curlicues appear beneath toasted hazelnuts, shaved garlic and shallots, all atop a puff-pastry tray doused in syrupy chartreuse butter. Dark and luscious veal cheeks are rich and fall-apart tender. They straddle a tangle of homemade pappardelle studded with sweet pearl onions and button mushrooms in a thyme cream sauce with a hint of lemon.

And if you're gonna steal my barstool, you might as well take your time and enjoy the buttery roasted-to-order half-pheasant-which tastes like a slightly gamey, juicy turkey-with chestnuts, fennel and onion, served with intense rosemary polenta made with local cornmeal...

Well, you're here now, so you might as well stay for dessert. Choose from the warm butter-soaked mini pound cake whose hollow center contains cubes of roasted pineapple doused in a honey-like syrup; a coffee cup of velvety, mousse-like chocolate pot de creme; three crepe hankies filled with pine nuts, hazelnuts and mascarpone; a half-dozen sugar cookies with lemon curd; or a glass of Errazuriz dessert wine that's a steal at $5 a glass.

Just do me a favor. Make a reservation for one of those cozy white-clothed tables in the back dining room-because I'd really like to keep my spot at the bar.

Lauren needn't worry about me or my Mom tomorrow night. We have a reservation at one of those cozy white-clothed tables in the back dining room.

June 15, 2005

In terms of vittles, made a reservation at the lauded nouveau-IrishChapter One in the Dublin Writer's Museum, but we may bypass the gourmet repast for the traditional Irish supper of Guinness, Guinness and more Guinness, depending on the mood.

Second stop: Driving through Ireland's Southern coutryside, the Ring of Kerry and more, including stops at a lovely Irish country manor hotel and the village of Doolin, famed for its musical charms.

Any food or drink recommendations are welcome. Not heading out until Sunday night, so feel free to post suggestions until then...

June 13, 2005

What is it about a Southern-style brunch that seems rarified? Is it the biscuits made from scratch? The crystal glasses filled with icey cold Sweet Tea? The sugary, citrus spiked Mimosas garnished with strawberries and green grapes? The salty Country Ham brought up from North Carolina? The rich, eggy slices of homemade Quiche? The aromatic Fruit Salad, tossed gently in lemon juice and sugar, as not to "bruise" the delicate produce?

This past Saturday, in a borough called Queens, it was all of the above that made a Southern brunch a thing of serene refinement. (Everything noted above, that is, along with several Southern accents, a hungry pup hoping for scraps - and most of all - my pal Celeste in full-on Stepford Wives regalia, wearing a long white eyelet lace skirt and straw bonnet.)

You woulda thought I was in Jackson, Mississippi - not Jackson Heights!

June 08, 2005

The event at Gracie Mansion wasn't much by way of food - Kosher hamburgers and other picnic food. Nibbled on a piece of dry corn bread (cause Jewish cooks are known for three things - matzoh ball soup, mile-high deli sandwiches and corn bread), and quickly realized that I was going to have to raid my fridge when I got home.

Thankfully, I still had some leftovers from Friday night. I decided to bypass the Mac n' Cheese (it was way too warm out for something that rich) and headed directly for dessert: Apricot-Raspberry Crisp with Almonds. Even after a few days in my refrigerator, it was still bursting with sweet-tart flavors. Mmm...Delish.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix the fruit with the sugar and cornstarch. Set aside for a half-hour, so the juices can start to meld. In a separate bowl, with a pastry blender or two knives, blend together the butter, flour and brown sugar. Once it's the consistency of oatmeal, mix in the almonds and salt. Place the fruit and juices in a baking dish. Top with the flour-butter mixture. Bake for 1 hour, when the top is brown and the juices are just starting to bubble up. Serves 8.

The vibrancy of the apricots pairs beautifully with the sugary hit of raspberries. And the crunch of the buttery almond slices compliments the juicy fruits nicely. In my opinion, a perfect summer dessert.

*Note: Earlier version of this posting said 4 cups of apricots. My bad. It's actually 6, as now noted above.

June 02, 2005

June 01, 2005

When small restaurants actually work in the big city, they are simply magic. Evidence: Prune in the East Village.

Not long ago my pal Kristin joined me at this diminutive dining room for a scrumptious brunch. And, last weekend, on a whim, my friend Joy and I decided to see if we could sneak in at the bar on a Friday night. Luck was with us. We grabbed two stools, just as a couple walked in and took the other two. (Yes, folks, this bar has only four stools. I told you it was tiny.)

No sooner did we plop our pitooties down when we saw the special for the night - Burrata - the infamous Italian cheese that made Orgasma Dinner a success and rendered the male of the species unnecessary (at least for that evening).

We weren't going anywhere. We were home for the night.

But, did we want to start off with a massive bowl of decadent dairy goodness?

We decided to scan the menu. Maybe it was best to nibble our way through and then finish with the Burrata. Mmmmm...A lot of lovely options were to be had. We finally settled on two starters: First, a plate of garden-crisp red radishes, which we dunked in sweet butter and sprinkled with coarse salt. Alongside, we ordered a platter of gorgeously seared monkfish liver. It was as rich as foie gras, but with an intense briny punch. We slathered the warm, quivering stuff on grilled bread and hummed with delight as our eyes rolled back in our heads.

What to have next...Were we ready for the Burrata? It was a tough call. We had already experienced the wonders of the incredible edible Burrata, and there were depths of Prune's menu that we still hoped to plumb. (Get it? Plumb-Prune?)

The menu prevailed. After the monkfish liver, we felt it was in our best gourmet interests to keep exploring Prune's varied offerings. And so a steaming bowl of artichoke hearts, English peas in a buttery broth was brought forth, followed by toothsome lamb sausages, which reminded Joy of the sausages prepared by her Syrian aunts when she was a girl.

As we grazed, we couldn't help but notice that the couple next to us was committing a sin. They were leaving a magnificently crisp piece of pork crackling on their plate. We eyed it with longing. It didn't go unnoticed. Soon the cracking was handed down the bar and Joy and I crunched with glee. Chatting commenced. The couple was from Atlanta. The bartender, Chuck, got into the game too. Dessert wine was poured on the house. Six degrees of separation was played and we quickly sussed out that one of them had gone to high school in Hawaii with an old college pal of mine.

Small world. And, for tonight, an enchanted one too.

The couple left. We lingered, ordering two glasses of champagne and a slice of divine chocolate almond cake to gild our lillies.